


You Are My Angel, You Are My Crime

by crutchiebytheway



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst with a Happy Ending, Artist Ernst, Child Abuse, DWSA verse, Death, Gun Violence, History, Homophobia, M/M, Reincarnation, Religion, Sexual Abuse, Struggling with Religion, Use of Q slur, WWII
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 02:41:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5810461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crutchiebytheway/pseuds/crutchiebytheway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hanschen and Ernst are stuck in a cycle. One dies, then the other, then they're reborn.</p>
<p>And the cycle continues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Are My Angel, You Are My Crime

**Author's Note:**

> Happy dwsa closing ;(
> 
> Title from Peach by The Front Bottoms (a very hernst song)
> 
> Probably not historically accurate, sorry about that. If you catch a major mistake, let me know!

1.

1919

The first time starts with Hanschen. 

Hanschen fucks everything up. He knows this. It is a simple fact of his life.

He cannot love without jeopardizing Ernst's safety. He can't survive childhood without his country entering war. Hell, he couldn't even go to church without being violated. He thought he had forgotten the sensation of uninvited hands on his skin, thought he was able to overcome it by seeking out more partners, and if not a partner, himself, within the safety of his room. He had to grow up, stop crying, and endure it. Adapt. 

It worked, at first. Every deliberate orgasm was one step in taking back his life. Every sigh was one more stride as he ran away as fast as he could. He ran straight into Ernst and didn't have to run so fast.

Hanschen did not originally plan on much coming from that first day in the vineyard. Moritz Stiefel had shot himself, Melchior Gabor was expelled and Ernst was another pretty face hopelessly forced into the closet. He would let him know what 30 years from then, their moment together would seem unbelievably beautiful and be on his way. 

Ernst, with his question, _"And in the meantime?"_ promoted Hanschen to stay and answer "Why not?" both in response to Ernst and to his own budding feelings for the boy.

But now, with the incoming war, he's thinking too much again and every mention of the church sends Hanschen back to age 12, wanting to cry in mass every Sunday.

Ernst once told him he wanted to be a pastor. Hanschen can't deicide if this makes him want to laugh or cry. 

Ernst is not the young, naive boy he had been all those years ago. He has grown up, and has done so far too quickly for Hanschen's liking. He wonders if this is his doing, just as the church forced him to grow up. Hanschen has tainted him, he concludes. Ernst wouldn't even be with Hanschen if he had been given a choice all those years ago in the vineyard (Did Hanschen give him a choice or was he forceful? He isn't even sure). Ernst could have been free. Hanschen cannot escape his past.

Ernst coaxes Hanschen's walls down. And Hanschen pays dearly for it.

He turns to the drink. And the drink turns him mad.

_"Hanschen, please,"_ Ernst begs. _"Please, please listen to me. You aren't yourself." ___

He wishes he could.

"You stay away from me!" Both Hanschen's words and signs are slurred. "You stop talking!"

He is cruel.

He starts running again. 

"Don't bother coming after me!"

The last look he gets of Ernst is him sunk down to his knees, sobbing. Wounded.

Hanschen is found the next morning in a ditch a mile and a half away. Dead. 

He was alone.

2.

1942

Ernst's lip wobbles. He has to bite down on it hard, so hard it can taste blood, to get it to stop.

It's his fault. 

He glances around him, but Hanschen is still nowhere to be seen. Where have they taken him? How will they punish him for their final moments together, no space between them, lips smashing together, hands frantically shouting, " _I love you. You'll be okay. I love you so much. Remember that, okay? Remember that I love you."_

Ernst's eyes spill over yet again. His Hanschen is gone, and he can't help it feel as if he'd lost him before. He is losing his Hanschen again. 

He glances down at the pink triangle on his uniform. Ernst hates that he's being labeled like this. Hates what it is bringing upon him. Hates this continuous feeling of loss. 

What he doesn't know is that soon, he won't feel anything.

In his final moments, he envisions Hanschen. It is a slightly different Hanschen than the one he knows, and this Hanschen kisses him passionately in a vineyard, where they are alone. He walks with him after class, and if no one is around, takes a risk to grab his hand or kiss his neck and Ernst's heart flutters. And then he's dead. Ernst is standing over him, crying. 

Instead of worrying Ernst, this calms him. He will see his love again.

3.

1953

_"Hanschen, he knows."_

"What? Who knows what?"

Ernst took a shaky breath. _"The landlord. He knows about us. He's giving us the day to pack up."_

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

_"He must have been knocking on the door for a while, but I couldn't hear it to let him in. Apparently one of the neighbors was already suspicious. He just barged in, I didn't have time to fix the beds, or the pictures..."_

Hanschen surveys the room. The twin mattresses are still pushed together on the floor, not in their separate bedstands, the standard for visitors in their apartment. He was stepping on glass, presumably from the multiple broken picture frames on the floor. He bent down and flipped one over. 

He recognizes this one, taken in a photo booth almost two months prior. 3 pictures of the pair smiling, laughing, holding each other, the last of Hanschen kissing Ernst, a small blush crawling across his cheeks. He pockets it.

Also on the ground, a canvas. He flips it over to find Ernst's artwork.

"Oh, Ernst..."

The painting had once been of the back of a blond head just barely turning to look over his shoulder. Now, a hole right in the center distorted the image and made it unrecognizable. He recognized another canvas with a footprint on it as another one of Ernst's. And he had worked so hard on them...

"Are you alright?" Hanschen questioned. "You seem pretty shaken up."

Ernst raised his hands, but dropped them to his side, defeated.

"That asshole," Hanschen muttered. "Who does he think he is?"

Ernst doesn't need to answer. They both know that their landlord is correct in thinking he has power over them.

It doesn't take them long to pack their things.  They didn't have much money to buy stuff, anyways. One bag each, with clothes, toothbrushes, easy food. Ernst brings basic art supplies. Hanschen packs his picture.

The thing about getting kicked out of your apartment for being gay is that you have nowhere to go. The news has already spread across the town, leaving you without work, and unable to find more. Moving in with family is out of the question. All your friends are either dead or too far away. It's freezing outside, there's snow everywhere, your boyfriend is cold and there's nothing you can do about it. 

It's been 3 days and Hanschen and Ernst are 2 towns over. No jobs have come up despite their best efforts. They spend all night asleep in the snow. 

They walk side by side, Hanschen slowly chewing his food to make it last longer, Ernst shaking and shivering. He stops in his tracks.

_"Hanschen,"_ Ernst says. _"That's an option."_

Hanschen follows his gaze to see a church, standing tall. Mocking him.

"You can't be serious. Ernst, they'd never take us."

_"They wouldn't know! And it's warm inside."_

Hanschen stares at the church.

"I can't. I'm sorry, I can't go in there." He tears his gaze away from the building. He can't stand to look any longer. "But you go in, Ernst. Warm yourself up, stay there until I can get us a place. "  
_"No way. I'm not leaving you."_ He interlocks their arms. _"I shouldn't have asked you, anyways. That wasn't fair of me."_

Ernst initiates the kiss, short, but sweet, a warmth of their own.

But kisses don't provide enough warmth to sustain human life. A day comes when Ernst stops shivering, and Hanschen wonders if he had just gone into the stupid church could this all have been avoided.

He'll be with Ernst again, he's figured that much, only to have him ripped away once more. He'll have his love in a disapproving world only to lose him to it. Will it ever end? Or  is he doomed to live eternity with a broken heart? He doesn't know. 

He wonders why God is punishing him. 

4\. 

1972

"God damn you!" Hanschen shouts himself raw. "Look at what you've done! To your son!" 

Ernst's father slowly shakes his head. Back and forth and back and forth. As if he has no other motion. 

"He is no son of mine," Ernst father declares. There's a quiver in his voice. Hanschen doesn't care. "He is against God, and that is no son of mine."

"Jesus Christ," Hanschen murmurs. He's heard enough from him. 

Kneeling down next to Ernst, one hand desperately pressing on the wound in his chest, the other flying from holding Ernst's hands, to cupping the side of his face, to trying to sign with one hand. He receives no response. 

"Don't you get it," Hanschen faces Ernst's murderer, and practically spits the words out. "You idiot, it's all an act. None of it is real. Your whole deal with the church, it's fake!"

Ernst's father raises his gun again. There's fire in his eyes. 

"Oh that's real smart. We've got a genius over here!" Hanschen taunts. "Do it! Shoot me! You still don't get it, dumbass, it can't stop us. I'm doomed either way!"

The gun is still threatening him, but he hasn't shot yet. 

Hanschen bares his teeth, and smirks at him. "Go to hell."

He pulls the trigger.

5.

1982

Despite everything, Ernst remains optimistic. Every new life will be their happy ending, he says, he just knows it. But, as fate would have it, something always showed up just as he let his guard down.

_"You're burning up."_

"I'm fine, Ernst, really." Hanschen tries to sit up, and launches a coughing fit. "Honestly."

_"No, you're not."_

"Please, Ernst, I'm not a child."

_"No, but you are sick. You'll stay in bed until you're better."_

Ernst thought that would be enough to keep him down, at least for the time being.

He's in the other room when he feels the ground shake. Hanschen is on the floor, holding his leg and cursing under his breath.

_"What did you do?!"_

"I don't know! I just tried to get up and my legs gave out!" He pounds the floor in frustration. "Fuck!"

Ernst considers his options. _"We should take you to the hospital."_

The hospital does not help. All they can do is tell them that something is seriously wrong with Hanschen. They can't even tell them what it is. They get him a bed and hook him up, but really, what more can they do?

Ernst spends his days next to him. Hanschen has to get better soon. He has to. He doesn't know how much more of this he can take if he doesn't. How many more lives will be lost? Will he ever rest?

He holds Hanschen's hands a lot. Whenever they aren't speaking in fact, which is increasing as Hanschen spends more of his time sleeping.

His hands are bony, not like they used to be. Ernst suspects that if he lifted up his hospital gown, he could count his rips with ease. Hanschen's already pale skin loses even more color with each day. Ernst does what he can to wipe the sweat off his forehead while he sleeps, or soothe the marks on his skin from scratching, but they always reappear.

He refuses to cry, even if he knows Hanschen will not see him. Ernst will stay optimistic. They would be fine. Hanschen would be fine.

Ernst almost follows through with his silent promise. He doesn't cry until Hanschen takes his very last breath, and leaves him once again. He cries then, big, ugly sobs with snot and spit everywhere. He doesn't care.

6.

2016

Hanschen awakes with a start. He finds himself lying in bed, safe, rather than cradling a lifeless Ernst as he had dreamt.

Ernst rolls over and wraps his arms are Hanschen's waist. He rests his head on Hanschen's chest and sighs. He wonders how it is Ernst can always tell when he dreams about their lives before.

Hanschen strokes his hair and scans the room, collecting the small details of their room. There's light shining in through the curtains, so it must be at least 8:00 am. The various easels scattered around the room have many of Ernst's paintings. Hanschen, lying in the grass in the vineyard. Hands stretched out, reaching for each other. Feet over broken glass. Lips pressed together in the snow. Staring down the barrel of the gun. Wilted flowers in a hospital room.

He exhales. Ernst shifts and sits up to sign to him. _"I have to get up, the kids will be here soon."_

Ah, yes. The kids. Ernst's group for young queer kids struggling with religion, or life in general. But mostly religion. Through which, Ernst said, he was able to connect and help not only the kids, but their friends, who were all active leaders in the group.

Hanschen has never gone to any of their meetings, but he's briefly met a few of the kids when Ernst hosts, or if they stopped by just to say hi. It's almost like he knows them anyways, Ernst and the others talk of them so highly. He remembers Ernst crying tears of joy when the kids gladly began to learn sign language for him and the other Deaf leaders.

"So, Ernst," Hanschen begins. "I think...I think I'd like to go with you today. To your meeting."

_"You do?!"_

"Yeah. I mean, I have some stuff I'd like to say to them. About God, I guess."

Ernst's face darkens. _"Hanschen, are you sure you're ready to-"_

"No! I mean, good stuff. How it gets better. You know, whether you believe or not." 

Ernst grins from ear to ear, and brings him into a kiss, noses bumping. 

_"They are going to freak out, Hanschen, they've heard so much about you."_

"Oh, God."

_"No, good things!"_ He grabs Hanschen's hand and drags him out of bed. _"Let's go!"_

All in all, it was not a bad day to be in love with Ernst Robel. Though, Hanschen supposes, he's had many.

**Author's Note:**

> Whew!
> 
> Comment, kudos, constructive criticism, let me know what you think! I'm definitely thinking about writing more about Ernst and his group in a modern au. Let me know if that's something you want to read!


End file.
